


Benediction

by Ccroquette



Series: What We Must [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Romance, Scars, Sex, angstyish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ccroquette/pseuds/Ccroquette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scarred past does not necessitate a scarred future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Benediction

Vacation ends, the weeks pass and they remain in contact, visiting each other whenever they can. Whenever world politics allows them. They’re not used to a relationship, either of them, but they do become accustomed to each other, and that goes a long way towards making things work.

When Matthew sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night, gasping for air and needing someone to cling to, Ivan’s there to hold him until it goes away, and to hold him afterward, as he drifts back to sleep, and the two times that Ivan’s woken up well before dawn, half-crazed and frantically whispering, “ _Ya ne mogu,_ ” Matthew’s been there, brushing sweat-damp hair away from his face and kissing away the nightmares.

Neither of them minds the lack of sleep.

They’re together tonight, in Matthew’s house. They’ve gotten ready for bed, and Ivan’s about to click off the lights when Matthew leans in and kisses him. A good-night kiss is nothing new, but tonight it’s different - warm and tender and lingering. Matthew threads a hand through Ivan’s hair and as Ivan wraps an arm around his waist he feels a strange familiar fire coiling in his belly.

With a sudden apprehension he realizes where this is heading.

He hasn’t done this often, and definitely not recently, but he pushes those thoughts aside. It _does_ feel good, and as Matthew presses against him and Ivan pulls him closer, he’s surprised to discover that he wants it.

Matthew tugs gently at his arm, guiding them both down to the bed, and almost of their own accord his fingers start unbuttoning Matthew’s pajama top. When all the buttons are undone Matthew shrugs out of it, and smiles at him, and reaches for the hem of Ivan’s shirt.

His heart lurches, and for a terrifying moment he feels dizzy and out of his head - nervous and aroused and wanting this more than anything but not wanting Matthew to _see_ -

And then, like that, his shirt is gone, and he’s exposed.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and hunches his shoulders, suddenly shy. The scars across his chest are only one small part of a much larger collection, and he’s sure it must be ugly. He didn’t have nearly as many of them the last time he did this.

His heart leaps, hopeful, when without hesitation Matthew reaches out to touch him -

\- and stops, eyeing the scars.

His heart sinks.

Matthew says hesitantly, “Will it hurt, if I touch them?” And then, so soft Ivan hardly hears it, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 _Oh._ All of a sudden there’s a lump in his throat and he thinks he might cry. He can’t speak. He shakes his head, instead, and sees a small smile alight on Matthew’s face.

Matthew starts touching him slowly, gently, only his fingertips against Ivan’s skin. Their touch is electrifying and he feels the heat in his belly again. This time instead of worrying he simply lets go, and welcomes it, and with a shaky breath he leans forward to rest his head against Matthew’s shoulder as Matthew traces the scars.

Matthew’s hands trace down his ribcage, up his back, and Ivan responds in kind. He presses his hands flat against Matthew’s back, his shoulders, needing to just _touch_ him. Matthew kisses his cheek, softly, and then his hand brushes the twisted patch of skin where Ivan’s left nipple used to be, and abused and over-sensitive nerves spark. He moans and for a second he’s not even sure if it’s pain or pleasure but he knows that he needs more of it.

“Was that a good noise or a bad noise?” Matthew’s voice is low, husky with arousal.

“Good,” Ivan gasps out, and he’s barely finished speaking before Matthew does it again.

He cries out. The heat, the warmth, is overwhelming, and he tilts his head up to kiss Matthew, who responds eagerly, a hand on the back of Ivan’s neck and his tongue against Ivan’s lips.

With one hand Ivan cradles the side of Matthew’s face, and he places the other hand at Matthew’s waist and in one swift movement pulls him into his lap.

Matthew makes an approving sound, half-growling into Ivan’s mouth, and spreads his legs wider so that he can rock his hips downward. He’s hard and _warm_ and Ivan’s hips buck in response. It’s the most perfect thing he’s ever felt.

Matthew’s hands continue their wandering, down Ivan’s chest and up again, over his collarbones, to trace the long thin scar across his throat, a parting gift from Tino. His lips follow, soft and gentle on sensitive skin. Ivan raises his chin, bares his neck - something he’s never done, not for anyone - and Matthew takes the hint and licks a burning line up his throat. Ivan gasps.

Ivan’s hands explore Matthew’s back, feeling small rough ridges of skin where Matthew has scars, too - but not nearly so many, and his are prettier, better-healed. His fingers brush below the waistband of Matthew’s boxers, and Matthew’s hands stop wandering so that he can press his chest against Ivan’s, grind his hips down.

_Oh._

He was wrong about the warmth being overwhelming before. He’s _surrounded_ by warmth and Matthew and a small plaintive moan escapes his lips. He wraps his arms around him, holding him as close as he can get, desperate to have as much skin on skin as possible.

Matthew answers him with a kiss, and then places a hand on his shoulder and gently pushes him back into the mattress.

Caught by surprise, Ivan lets himself be pushed, but tenses up when he finds himself on his back. For a second he feels dizzy and off-balance again, because he’s _on his back_ and _vulnerable_ and that wouldn’t be good at all but then Matthew appears above him. Matthew plants his hands on the mattress next to Ivan’s head, and just _writhes_.

Adrenaline and fire course through his veins.

He tries to breathe.

His hands are shaking. It’s too much, like this. Too much sensation - warmth and weight and skin and Matthew and hard and _yes_. All his nerves are on edge, and he feels so much that he can’t understand it, can’t tell if everything is about to come together or fall apart into a million shattering pieces.

He wants to scream.

Matthew pulls back, voice a panting whisper. His fingertips stroke Ivan’s hair, comforting. “You all right?”

Ivan nods - perhaps too quickly, or perhaps something shows on his face, because Matthew slides off of him to lie pressed against his side, and that feels better. Some of the weight leaves his chest, his heart stops pounding quite so much, and he can breathe now. He blinks up at the ceiling, relieved.

They lie there for several minutes, as Ivan catches his breath and comes back down to Earth. Matthew rubs a hand slowly up and down his chest, trails soft kisses down his neck. Matthew’s warm, so warm, and Ivan can feel his hardness against his hip.

He rolls over, facing Matthew, and pulls him into a kiss. Their hips press together and there’s _heat_ again, but it’s different this time, less heady, a slow burn. Matthew moans and his fingers squeeze Ivan’s shoulder and Ivan wants to hear more of those noises. His hands travel lower, between them, gently squeezing the bulge between his legs.

He’s rewarded with another moan and Matthew rocking against his hand, and even through the cotton of his boxers the heat is irresistible. Matthew makes a disappointed noise when he takes his hand away, though the disappointment quickly disappears when Ivan takes both hands to tug at the waistband of Matthew’s boxers.

He pulls them down, and Matthew kicks them away, and then he’s naked, all skin and warmth and _there_. Ivan drags a hand up his thigh to feel Matthew’s cock heavy and hot and hard in his palm, and Matthew gasps. He strokes once, experimentally, relishing the feel of soft skin over hardness.

Another gasp from Matthew, and then he smiles, impishly, and hooks his own hand into the waist of Ivan’s pajamas. He pauses to look up at Ivan, and he’s barely even stopped before Ivan nods his assent. He _needs_ this.

Ivan helps him work the pants off his legs - they, too, are heavily scarred but now he’s too caught up in _Matthew_ to worry - and then before he can move Matthew has stretched a hand around both their lengths, and it’s perfect and electric and beautiful. He bucks his hips and for a second Matthew loses his grip and before Ivan can stop himself a tiny whimper leaves his throat.

Ivan’s hand is bigger. He reaches out to stroke the both of them together, and Matthew moans and bucks against him and it’s all skin-on-skin and perfect heat. He feels the tension building and as Matthew leans in to kiss him and swipes a thumb roughly over his nipple he comes, gasping.

His hand falls away and Matthew takes over, continuing to stroke as he shudders through the orgasm and tries yet again to come back down. Dimly he’s aware of Matthew releasing, a hot sticky rush against his skin and then Matthew presses closer, throwing an arm around his waist, clinging as best he can with trembling muscles. Ivan does the same.

They lie together, breathing heavily and suddenly lethargic. It takes most of the energy that Ivan has to tilt forward and give Matthew a soft kiss on the forehead. Matthew smiles, and curls more closely against him - and then he pulls away, and Ivan is about to protest before he sees that Matthew has grabbed tissues from the bedside. He cleans them both up quickly, sloppily - but neither of them has the strength to move right now. A shower can wait.

When he’s finished he draws the blankets up over both of them, and Ivan, already missing the feel of Matthew pressed against him, rolls them to the side until Matthew is on his back and Ivan’s head is nestled in the crook of his shoulder. One of his hands runs lightly down Ivan’s back, pausing to trace, delicately, over lines of scars.

There’s no more tension, no more anxiety. Ivan relaxes into the touch and as he drifts hazily off to sleep he knows that he is loved.


End file.
